Indiscretions
by Little Obsessions
Summary: Joseph was not his bodyguard; he was detailed to the queen. A role he delighted in, not only for its ease, but for the very object of his duty. Joseph is a witness to the king's indiscretions. One use of strong language.


Aside from one use of strong language, this story is mild. This idea sprung from an interview I read with Julie Andrews where she said that in PD1 there had been something with Clarisse and Joe for a while and that they just wanted to hint at it in the film.

Nothing belongs to me, and all of this belongs to Disney and Meg Cabot, aside from my (nigh on non-existent) plot.

* * *

Joseph stood at the end of the long banqueting room, maintaining his usual stance that would be termed somewhere between menacing and highly official. With the Princes gone (one to the seminary and one to America respectively) it was just the royal couple that were dining tonight. There was a silence that the countless tapestries, priceless paintings and antique statues could not absorb. This room could be a cupboard and the silence would still be deafening. The only noise in the room was of the clinking of gold cutlery, which stretched out for miles on either side of the diners, as it came into contact with the crockery. At times, a lonesome wine glass joined the orchestra. He watched and wondered all the time; how could they be happy? But then it occurred to him that happiness had never been something that figured importantly in this kind of marriage. The important thing here, he thought, was functionality. And her willingness to be quiet and the king's good name. Her cleverness was important too; Rupert was alright as a king, she was an excellent queen. She was a diplomat of the highest skill.

"Ahem."

The voice in his ear startled him from his observation of the royal couple. Alois, the Head of Security, continued; "Joe, can you please inform the king that he has a…visitor?"

Joseph dreaded this and it happened, at least once a week, without fail. He felt like telling his boss to come and tell the king himself so he could watch the queen's face. Then maybe he wouldn't be such a willing participant in this charade. But he surpassed that urge.

He stepped up behind the king and said to him, attempting to keep his tone as neutral as possible; "Your Majesty, there is a visitor for you."

The queen looked up from her plate and stared at her husband, and then her eyes dropped back down. Impulsively, Joseph felt like reaching out to her but instead he stood back so the king could leave the table.

"Excuse me my dear," Rupert nodded, "I have business to attend to."

"Of course you do."

Perhaps the king failed to hear it but there was, as far as Joseph was concerned, an unmistakable bite in her voice. The king dumped his linin napkin on the chair and then, bowing curtly to his wife, strode from the room.

Joseph was not his bodyguard; he was detailed to the queen. A role he delighted in, not only for its ease, but for the very object of his duty. Even though he had that role, he occasionally had to escort the king's recent paramour of choice from the castle if Alois was too busy with paper work. She was a leggy brunette who was not exactly discreet about her relationship with the reigning monarch. A couple of times Michel, the king's personal secretary, had to offer substantial bribes from the private coffers of the Renaldi's to ensure that the girl's word went no further in the poorer tabloids of the country. The king wasn't informed because Alois felt it would just upset him. Joseph had disagreed with this on 2 occasions so far, leading to a written warning in his file. He shrugged away the thought and stood back against the wall, pushing his earpiece in further. He did this out of habit, rather than necessity.

He watched her push her food around her plate for a while, but she took more naturally to drinking the wine. She motioned to one of the footmen and looked at him for a moment. Joseph knew she did this to go through her extensive catalogue of faces. She had a remarkable memory for faces and names and it was something that Joseph often admired.

"Karl," she finally concluded with a slight smile, "I have finished."

"Ma'am," the footman responded politely, "There's still the next course and dessert."

"Yes," she responded, "There is nothing wrong with the food but I am quite full."

Joseph could tell she was lying. He always knew exactly what she was doing and when she was lying, even more so. Karl reached across the table and lifted the plate from before the queen as she placed her napkin on top of her barely touched fish course.

They were alone suddenly, and though not unusual, he could feel the tension that was thrumming from her. He knew why she stayed; because she knew nothing else.

She finally turned to him and he stepped forward. He offered her a smile, one that was intentionally vague. He didn't want to offer condolences or sympathy. It was beyond that anyway and they knew each other too well to pretend. He admired her stoicism and her utter, utter determination to never be bested. She was full of fire and completely quiet as she went about it. She was diplomatic even as she watched her sham of a marriage fall apart.

"Will you walk me to my office Joseph?"

"Of course," he nodded and stepping towards her, pulled her chair out so it was easier for her to move away, "Not to your chamber?"

"I don't think," she laughed dryly as she smoothed the front of her suit down, "I'll be able to sleep."

He did not respond to her quip, only smiled lightly as he fell into step with her. Their silence was companionable as they made their way to the private family chambers. He was glad they did not pass by the king's rooms – thank God, he thought, for small graces.

They reached her office, which doubled as her private library, and he closed the door lightly behind them.

"Whiskey?"

She picked up the decanter on the side board and proceeded to pour two glasses anyway, without waiting for his response.

"I don't drink on duty."

"Fine," she answered, "Consider yourself off duty."

He shook his head, "No your majesty."

"Don't make me turn it into a command," she held out the glass to him, "I hate when I have to do that."

Her tone was jocular but underneath there was a serious note. She was brooking no protest. He didn't like to drink on duty, in fact, he found it nigh on irresponsible. He didn't want to give in to her request yet he felt like he had to. If it made her feel better, just for a moment, then it was worth it. This was what was so bizarre to him; pleasing her recently was not just about being an efficient bodyguard, it was about what made her personally happy. And god, he thought to himself, did she need to be personally happy right now.

"Do you ever miss the military?"

She motioned for him to join her on the chair directly across from hers. He sat, pulling up the legs of his trousers so they didn't crease as he went.

"No," he shook his head, "I don't. I'm getting on. The thought of all that exercise makes me tired."

"Liar," she laughed, "I see you running around the grounds every spare moment you get, if you're not in the fitness suite or on the basketball court. The list of your fitness pursuits goes on…"

"I didn't realise you watched me so closely," he answered, noting with pleasure the blush that crept onto her face. He enjoyed teasing her like this. They both enjoyed teasing.

She covered her admission well, "It's my job to know what's happening with my staff. I also have a vested interest in ensuring that the man who looks after me is fit enough to do it."

"I don't know if anyone is fit enough to look after you," he responded with a laugh.

She laughed candidly then, "You really are brave Joseph."

He loved the way she said his name; the way her tongue curled around the 'f' sound, dragging it out in her perfect diction. She smiled at him and relaxed back in her seat. She crossed her legs, something the queen would never do in public. He had to drag his eyes away.

"Forgive me," he inclined his head in mock-seriousness, "If I have at all offended you, your majesty."

"I have spent all my offense tonight on my husband," she answered seriously.

He looked at her face as she continued, "Is it still the pretty brunette? That has been quite a while now. I have often been criticised, by stylists and columnists alike, for keeping my hair so light and short for my entire reign, now they know why. He never has liked blondes too much."

Joseph was momentarily embarrassed for her, then realised that everything she was saying was thought out and well prepared. She may not have planned to say it, but in saying it to him she was making no admission that she hadn't intended to share.

"I-"

"Don't worry Joseph," she waved an airy hand and was genuinely attempting to assuage his feelings, "You are not keeping anything from me that I don't already know. Everyone knows. Your job is not to protect my emotions, just my body."

He felt a flare of anger. Of course it was his job to protect everything that she was. He was offended that she did not see it that way but he was also humiliated, humiliated that he had failed her.

"At least he doesn't ask you to cover for him," she said lightly, "He used to ask my other bodyguard, Clarence to do that. I eventually got rid of him."

This was not a warning so he merely inclined his head.

"Your Majesty," he answered, "I wouldn't ever-"

"I know Joseph," she nodded, a sad smile on her face, "I know you wouldn't."

He knew she was finished discussing it; that there was no point in asking or pressing. She had plenty of experience in the humiliation that came with being cuckolded; they did not need to discuss that. He was impressed by her stamina and was attracted to that very determination. He was attracted to everything about her. He thought of the man down the hall, finished rutting with the young brunette by now no doubt, and considered him nothing but a vain fool. An idiot who failed to see what he had in the ally that was supposed to share his bed, and had taken his name.

He knew the king cared about his wife, in the way friends and allies cared about each other. There was no love and as the man, the heir, the one whose position was much less tenuous, Rupert often sought comfort in the arms of other women. They were a good partnership and that was it. Yet his indiscretions, and the way in which he belied the 'discretion' part of that description, never failed to embarrass her. She was a queen but she was a woman who was also immensely proud.

Joseph didn't know where it came from but it was out of his mouth before he even realised it.

"If you were mine, I wouldn't fuck about," he watched as she flinched at that word, "I would worship you like you deserve to be worshiped. Every inch of you."

She looked him straight in the eye, her voice calm and cool, "That's treason."

"I know," he shrugged, "But it's true."

"I know," she looked him squarely in the face and said softly, "Goodnight Joseph. I think it's time you left."

He stood up, understanding this not as a dismissal of anger or upset, but as one that had to be done. This could lead to places neither he, nor she, wished to go. He bowed low over her hand, kissing the skin on the back then, turning it over, pressed a kiss to her wrist. No, he thought to himself, this is exactly where you want to go. This is why it's dangerous. And she does too, as much as she pretends she doesn't.

He watched her face all the time, noticed the downing of all barriers as her eyes fluttered closed at his touch. He was not a stupid man. Perception was his job. Her hand went to his cheek, touching lightly there, before she let it fall back.

"I think I should go too."

He bowed lowly, and left the library.

Years later she opened his file in front of him. The palace files had digitalised some time ago but as he had been promoted before then, his general file had merely been stored away in archives in favour of his Head of Security one. She was, oddly enough, singing off her own husband's retirement and needed to make sure all files were closed. It was a bureaucratic, silly task that often took up an unnecessary portion of her time. This one she was delighted to do for two reasons; one it was her husband's and the second was that this would soon be Mia's job and not hers.

She let the file fall open before them both, and they took a moment to laugh at how dark his hair had once been. She flipped over to the second page, pen poised over the closing file part, when she noticed the slip of paper clipped to the top.

"Darling," she pulled the slip off, "An official warning?"

He looked grave for a moment then nodded.

"You kept that quiet," she answered genuinely, her face a mixture of amusement and curiosity, "Care to elaborate?"

"Not particularly," he said, a little roguishly.

"It would have to be very bad," she solemnly, "For me to get angry."

"It won't make you angry," he shrugged, "It just won't be something you'll want to be reminded of."

"I don't know if you've noticed Joseph," she said curtly, "But I am a big girl, I can handle unsavoury stories."

He resisted the urge to quip that she was indeed quite a grown up girl and instead said; "Very well."

She looked at him expectantly.

"I didn't like the way Alois and Michel covered up Rupert's indiscretions, and I shared that with them. They weren't pleased. They tied an official warning to my file."

She let her mouth fall open a little and then closed it again. She hadn't realised. His words, that night in her library, his crude and vile and true words, came back to her.

He shrugged again and looked down at the piece of paper, "They didn't like that I defended you."

"You often were the only one who defended me in that case," she nodded diplomatically.

He lifted her hand, and in a similar way that he had that night, kissed it. They had grown accustomed to such an intimate gesture in the intervening years; first the back, then the wrist. It had grown to a considerably higher level of intimacy in the years between the king's death and their marriage but that old, promising gesture still remained.

"I couldn't bare it," he closed his eyes for a moment, " I have to try very hard not to think on it."

"Really?"

Her feelings were floating seamlessly between love and regret. She regretted that she'd waited so long for this and she loved him so intensely in that moment.

"You know," she whispered, "That night in the library, I nearly came after you."

He opened his eyes as she continued, "I nearly came to your rooms. My head, I'm sure you can imagine, was full of plans. I was going to ask you to make me give in to you, to worship me the way you had promised. Treason or not."

"Until we were married," he laughed a little, attempting to lighten the mood, "I hadn't realised what a vivid imagination you had."

She slapped his chest playfully, "But you mattered more to me than those girls meant to Rupert, and in the end, I would have been using you to my own ends."

"I don't think I would have minded."

"No," she nodded, a look of mock-indignation on her face, "But it meant more to me than that, obviously."

He pointed at her wedding ring and repeated, attempting to mimic her unique intonation, "Obviously."

He laughed at her then and she joined in. He lifted up the warning and held it in front of her. Balling it up, he threw it gracefully into the fire in their chamber. It was consumed instantly.

She smiled a little, "What would Alois say now?"

"God," he shook his head, "I don't know. Thank God he's not here. He underestimated me. A warming was nothing; I would have taken a bullet for you."

"I know," she took great pleasure in flourishing her name across the page.

He studied her signature for a moment and she waited on his appraisal.

"Mrs Romero," he murmured against her ear, "You still need some practice with that."

She sighed, a little indignantly, and ran her finger over the indentations and damp ink that had been left by the fountain pen.

"I don't miss Renaldi, is that wrong?"

"No," he said simply, "You waited long enough."

"I know."

* * *

**Please R and R. **


End file.
